my felf for the love of a Guinney-Hen, I would change my Humanity with a Baboon.

Rod. What should I do, I confefs it is my fhame to be fo fond, but it is not in my Virtue to amend it.

Jago. Virtue a Fig, 'tis in our felves that we are thus or thus. Our Bodies are our Gardens, to the which our Wills are Gardiners. So that if we will plant Nettles, or fow Lettice; fet Hyffop, and weed up Time; fupply it with one gender of Herbs, or diftract it with many; ether have it fteril with Idlenefs, or manured with Industry, why the Power and corrigible Authority of this lyes in our Will. If the Ballance of our Lives had not one fcale of Reason to poise another of Senfuality, the blood and bafenefs of our Natures would conduct us to moft prepofterous Conclufions. But we have Reason, to cool our raging Motions, our carnal Stings, our unbitted Lufts; whereof I take this, that you call Love, to be a Sect, or Syen.

Rod. It cannot be.

Jago. It is meerly a Luft of the Blood, and a Permiffion of the Will. Come, be a Man: Drown thy felf? drown Cats and blind Puppies. I have profeft me thy Friend, and I confefs me knit to thy deferving, with Cables of perdurable toughness. I could never better feed thee than now. Put Mony in thy Purfe; follow thou thefe Wars, defeat thy Favour with an ufurped Beard; I fay, put Mony in thy Purfe. It cannot be long that Desdemona fhould continue her Love to the Moor. Put Mony in thy Purfe- nor he his to her. It was a violent Commencement in her, and thou shalt fee an answerable Squeftration, but put Mony in thy Purfe. Thefe Moors are changeable in their Wills; fill thy Purfe with Mony. The Food that to him, now, is as luscious as Locufts, fhall to him fhortly be as bitter as Coloquintida. She muft change for Youth; when the is fated with his Body, the will find the Errors of her Choice. Therefore put Mony in thy Purfe. If thou wilt needs damn thy felf, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the Mony thou canft. If Sanctimony and a frail Vow betwixt an erring Barbarian and fuper-fubtle Venetian be not too hard for my Wits, and all the Tribe of Hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make Mony. A pox of drowning thy felf, it is clean out of the way. Seek thou rather

to

to be hang'd in compaffing thy Joy, than to be drown'd, and go without her.

Rod. Wilt thou be faft to my hopes, if I depend on the Iffue?

Jago. Thou art fure of me: Go make Mony. I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My Caufe is hearted; thine hath no lefs reafon. Let us be conjun&ive in our revenge against him. If thou canft cuckold him, thou doft thy felf a Pleasure, me a Sport. There are many Events in the womb of Time, which will be delivered. Traverfe, go, provide thy Mony. We will have more of this to morrow. Adieu.

Rod. Where fhall we meet i'th' Morning?
Fago. At my Lodging.

Rod. I'll be with thee betimes.

Jago. Go to, farewel. Do you hear, Rodorigo?
Rod. I'll fell all my Land.

Jago. Thus do I ever make my Fool my Purfe;
For I mine own gain'd Knowledge fhould profane,
If I would time expend with fuch a Swain,
But for my Sport and Profit: I hate the Moor,
And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my Sheets
He has done my Office. I know not if't be true-
But I, for meer fufpicion in that kind,
Will do, as if for furety. He holds me well-
The better shall my Purpose work on him;
Caffio's a proper Man: Let me fee now,
To get this place, and to plume up my Will
In double Knavery---How? how ?----Let's fee-
After fome time, to abufe Othello's Ears,
That he is too familiar with his Wife-
He hath a Perfon, and a smooth Difpofe
To be fufpected; fram'd to make Women falfe.
The Moor is of a free and open Nature,
That thinks Men honeft, that but feem to be fo,
And will as tenderly be led by th' Nofe
As Affes are:

I have't it is ingendred--- Hell and Night

[Exit,

Muft bring this monftrous Birth to the World's light.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

SCENE The Capital City of Cyprus.
Enter Montano, and Gentlemen.

Mont.WGent. Nothing at all, it is a high wrought

HAT, from the Cape, can you discern at Sea

Flood;

I cannot 'twixt the Heav'ns and the Main

Defcry a Sail.

Mont. Methinks the Wind hath spoke aloud at Land, A fuller blaft ne'er hook our Battlements;

If it hath ruffian'd fo upon the Sea,

What Ribs of Oak, when Mountains melt on them,
Can hold the Morties. What fhall we hear of this?
2 Gent. A Segregation of the Turkish Fleet;
For do but ftand upon the foaming Shore,
The chidden Billow feems to pelt the Clouds,
The wind-fhak'd Surge, with high and monftrous Main,
Seems to caft Water on the burning Bear,
And quench the Guards of th'ever fixed Pole;
I never did like moleftation view

On the enchafed Flood.

Mont. If that the Turkish Fleet

Be not infhelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd:
It is impoffible to bear it out.

Enter a Gentleman.

3 Gent. News, Lads; our Wars are done: The defperate Tempeft hath fo bang'd the Turks,

That their defignment halts. A noble Ship of Venice
Hath feen a grievous wrack and fufferance

On most part of their Fleet.

Mont. How! is this true?

3 Gent. The Ship is put in; a Veroneffo, Michael Caffio, Lieutenant of the Warlike Moor, Othello,

Is come on fhore; the Moor himfelf's at Sea,

And is in full Commiffion here for Cyprus.

Mont. I am glad on't; 'Tis a worthy Governor.

3 Gent. But this fame Caffio, though he fpeak of Comfort, Touching the Turkish Lofs, yet he looks fadly, And prays the Moor be fafe; for they were parted

With foul and violent Tempeft.

Mont. Pray Heav'ns he be:

For I have ferv'd him, and the Man commands
Like a full Soldier. Let's to the Sea-fide, hoa,
As well to fee the Veffel that comes in,

As to throw out our Eyes for brave Othello,
Even 'till we make the Main and th' Erial blue,
An indiftin& regard..

Gent. Come, let's do fo;

For every Minute is expectancy
Of more Arrivance.

Enter Caffio.

Caf. Thanks you, the valiant of this warlike Ifle, That fo approve the Moor: Oh let the Heav'ns Give him Defence against the Elements,

For I have loft him on a dangerous Sea.

1

Mont. Is he well fhipp'd?

Caf. His Bark is ftoutly timber'd, and his Pilot
Of very expert and approv'd Allowance;

Therefore my hopes, not furfeited to Death,
Stand in bold Cure.

Within. A Sail, a Sail, a Sail.

Caf. What Noife?

Gent. The Town is empty; on the brow o'th' Sea Stand ranks of People, and they cry a Sail.

Caf. My hopes do fhape him for the Governor. Gent. They do difcharge their fhot of courtefie, Our Friends at least.

Caf. I pray you, Sir, go forth,

And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived.

Gent. I fhall.

[Exit.

Mont. But, good Lieutenant, is your General wiv'd?
Caf. Moft fortunately, he hath atchiev'd a Maid

That paragons Defcription, and wild Fame:
One that excels the Quirks of blazoning Pens,
And in th' effential Vefture of Creation,

Do's bear an Excellency.

Enter Gentleman.

How now? who has put in?

Gent. 'Tis one Jago, Ancient to the General.

Kk 4

Caf.

Caf. H'as had moft favourabble and happy speed;
Tempefts themselves, high Seas, and howling Winds,
The gutter'd Rocks, and congregated Sands,
Traitors enfteep'd, to clog the guiltless Keel,
As having Senfe of Beauty do omit

Their mortal Natures, letting go fafely by
The divine Desdemona.

Mont. What is she?

Caf. She that I fpake of, our great Captain's Captain; Left in the Conduct of the bold Fago,

Whole Footing here anticipates our thoughts,

A Sennight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard,
And fwell his Sail with thine own powerful Breath,
That he may bless this Bay with his tall Ship,
Make loves quick pants in Desdemona's Arms,
Give renew'd Fire to our extinguish'd Spirits,
And give all Cyprus comfort-

Enter Desdemona, Jago, Rodorigo, and Emilia.
Oh behold!

The Riches of the Ship is come on fhore:
You Men of Cyprus, let her have your Knees.
Hail to thee, Lady! and the grace of Heav'n,
Before, behind thee, and on every Hand
Enwheel thee round.

Def. I thank you, valiant Caffio,

What Tidings can you tell me of my Lord?
Caf. He is not yet arriv'd, nor know I ought
But that he's well, and will be fhortly here.
Def. Oh but I fear-how loft you Company?
Cof. The great Contention of the Sea and Skies
Parted our Fellowship. But hark, a Sail!
Within. A Sail, a Sail.

Gent. They give this greeting to this Cittadel:

This likewife is a Friend.

Caf. See for the News:

Good Ancient, you are welcome. Welcome, Mistress

Let it not gall your Patience, good Jago,

That I extend my Manners. Tis my Breeding
That gives me this bold Shew of Courtefie.

[To Æmilia.

Fago.